Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

  All traces of humanity left her face as she bared her fangs in a hiss. “You’re a bloody fool, Laurent. A pompous, prattling fool.” She leaned in, hating that she wasn’t tall enough to stare down at him. “You brought back the wrong comarré.”

  He deflated a centimeter. “What? No. I did exactly as—”

  “Oh, be quiet, Laurent, will you? Or do you just enjoy the sound of your own voice that bloody much?” Daci snorted softly in disgust. “You just can’t stand taking orders from a woman, can you?”

  He whirled to face her. “How dare you speak to me that way.” His hand cocked back as if to strike her.

  Daci flinched. Octavian jumped up, moving with extraordinary speed, and restrained him. “If you think you’re going to hit a woman in my presence, you’re dead wrong.”

  Laurent snarled. “Take your hands off me, vampling.”

  Daci leaped to Tatiana’s side like a frightened doe. “Please, I just want to be done with this. With him.”

  “What are you talking about? Let me go or I’ll thrash you within an inch of ashing.” Laurent struggled to get free of Octavian’s grasp. “Now, vampling.”

  “Not a chance.” Octavian’s face colored with the exertion.

  Laurent had years of strength on him, but Octavian was fed and rested. Still, chances weren’t good Octavian would be able to hold him much longer. Tatiana gave Daci one last out. “You’re sure?”

  Laurent wriggled an arm free. Eyes metallic with fear, the petite blonde put a chair between her and her husband. “Yes.”

  Tatiana stepped in front of Laurent, drawing his attention and his ire. “Because you’ve failed me as a potential Elder and have been an abominably wretched husband to Daciana—”

  “That’s a bloody lie—”

  “—your services as both are no longer required. But because of your standing in the House of Tepes, I shall allow you a dignified out. Tomorrow morning, unable to face your failings, you’ll walk into the dawn and meet your fiery end.”

  “Like hell I will—”

  “Now,” Tatiana commanded.

  Octavian shoved Laurent forward. At the same time, Tatiana thrust her prosthetic hand out, turning her fingers into a razor-pointed stake. It found its target in Laurent’s chest, piercing his heart. His eyes went wide, his mouth rounded into an O, and then he was ash, floating to the floor. Daci let out a sudden solitary sob. Tatiana returned her hand to its usable state and shook the debris off it. “At least that’s what I’ll tell the council when I see them in St. Petersburg tomorrow.” She turned to Daci. “Get some sleep. The plane leaves at dusk and you’re going to be on it with me. You’re about to become the second female Elder of the House of Tepes.”

  Daci blinked, her fingers touching her lower lip. “I can’t believe I’m free.”

  Tatiana laughed as she stepped over the ash pile and made her way to the door. “I wouldn’t exactly say you’re free, Daci. You’ve just traded one master for another.” She paused, her hand on the knob, smiling to soften the blow of her words. She knew how Daciana must feel to finally be her own person after so many years. “Not to worry. I have great faith that you and I are going to get along famously.”

  And if they didn’t, if Daciana did something to lose Tatiana’s trust, well, that was easy enough to take care of, wasn’t it?

  If not for the slow-moving gate letting her back into Chrysabelle’s estate, Fi would have raced up the driveway and screeched to a stop in front of the house. It was exactly what she felt like doing, but the best she could manage was to slam the door when she got out. “I should have known.”

  Damian closed his door more gently. “Daylight hours aren’t the best for speaking to a vampire. You’re right—we should have known.” His long legs ate up the ground, putting him in step with her. “But that wouldn’t have stopped you from trying, would it?”

  “No,” she grumped. “At least the cops weren’t having any luck either.”

  “Doesn’t make you feel any better, though, does it? Wish you could have kicked down that door and forced him to see you, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She looked at him. “You’re all right for a…”

  “Comar?”

  “Guy.” She hit the doorbell, surprised Velimai hadn’t already opened it for them. “Most of the guys I know aren’t big on talking about feelings and stuff like that.”

  “Maybe you need to meet more guys.”

  “No, I like the one I have just fine.” Fi smiled, unable to help herself. Was Damian coming on to her? It was sweet. Especially since the last time a guy hit on her, she’d been totally alive. Damian knew about her ghosty side—he’d just seen it when she’d had a little freak-out at Seven—and he still wanted to take a chance? Definitely sweet. But definitely not happening. Doc was the only guy for her.

  Her smile disappeared. Not getting a clue as to his whereabouts sucked. Fi punched the doorbell a second time. “C’mon, Vel, open up.”

  At last the door swung wide, Velimai behind it. She signed something, too fast for Fi to catch.

  “Slow down, I don’t understand.”

  D-O-C-D-O-C-D-O-

  “Doc? You know where Doc is?” Fi almost grabbed Velimai’s hands, remembering at the last minute about the wysper’s super-scratchy skin.

  Yes. Velimai pointed upstairs. First room, she signed slowly.

  Fi took off, not waiting for more info. Damian ran with her and together they skidded to a stop on the marble floor outside the room Velimai had indicated. Fi opened the door and went into the guest room. A sleek, black leopard sprawled on the bed.

  “Doc!” Fi ran to his side and wrapped him in a hug.

  His big head came up, his golden eyes blinking in her direction. He pushed his head against her arm and exhaled through his nose, blowing warm air over her skin.

  “I’m happy to see you, too.” She kissed his head.

  He made a whuffing sound, then dropped his head to the bed again.

  Fi sat up, finally noticing that Velimai had come into the room as well. Fi looked at her. “He feels hot. Really hot. Is something wrong?”

  Velimai pointed to her arm, then to Doc.

  Fi checked his front leg. A long, scabby gash ran the length of it. Fi turned back to Velimai. “What happened?”

  The wysper shrugged, put down the towel she held, and picked up an e-tablet and stylus. She scribbled a note, then held it up for Fi to see. Arrived in leopard form. No idea what happened. Fever. Smells of brimstone.

  Fi’s insides went cold and she could feel herself wavering between corporeal and spirit forms. She knew two creatures that carried that stink. Neither was good news. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Should be, Velimai signed. She wrote a second message. He needs to rest/heal enough to shift human again. Then he’ll explain.

  Fi nodded, stroking Doc’s silky fur. “Okay,” she said softly, lying down beside the big purring beast. “But I’m staying with him until then.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Chrysabelle couldn’t help but stare at Mal the way the tourists stared at her. He walked toward her, in all his dark and beautiful glory, lit by the blazing Louisiana morning sky. It was like something she’d dreamed, not that she was prepared to admit that to him. She could barely admit it to herself. A few of the women set up to tell fortunes paused from laying out their cards to gawk as he strolled past their tables. Chrysabelle wanted to tell them to mind their own business.

  Instead, she bent her head and sipped the tall cup of chicory coffee Mortalis had picked up at a nearby café. She had no place to feel that way about Mal. No place. She glanced at the fae, who, because of the amount of iron fencing surrounding Jackson Square’s abundantly green park, stood a little farther away nursing his own cup of java.

  “Started to wonder if you were going to show,” Mortalis said as Mal approached.

  “I had a little incident,” Mal answered, closing the gap between them. He looked to his left at the soaring façade of the St. Loui
s Cathedral. “We had to meet on this side of the square?”

  “Can you feel it?” Chrysabelle asked, tipping her face in the direction of the magnificent church.

  He nodded. “Like ants on my skin.”

  “I know the feeling.” Mortalis nodded toward the wrought-iron fence. “That thing makes me feel like I’m chewing tinfoil.” He lifted a finger from his cup to point toward the street that bordered the river. “Tell me about this incident while we walk.”

  As the three of them started around the square, Mal spoke. “Couple of fae on patrol. Smokesingers, maybe. They took the bribe like you said they would.”

  “Describe them.” Mortalis lifted a hand to greet a street performer, a man dressed head to foot in silver clothing and matching face paint and moving like an old-time robot.

  “Short gray horns, silvery skin”—Mal pointed back at the man Mortalis had just waved to—“not that silvery, but close. And lavender eyes.”

  Mortalis nodded. “Those were definitely smokesingers. Cousin to the shadeux, but they don’t really get dangerous until they go through their first burning. If the ones you saw still had gray horns and not black, they hadn’t. They might not have even been a real patrol. Just juvies shaking you down in the name of the law.” He frowned. “You shouldn’t have anything else to worry about so long as we’re together.”

  “I don’t plan on going off on my own again.” Mal turned to Chrysabelle. “You okay?”

  She tossed her empty cup into a trashcan. “A little tired, but good. Thanks.” She gave him a quick smile, trying to hide the pain arcing along her spine. The smile was real. He hadn’t had to come on this trip and probably shouldn’t have, considering the city’s policy on vampires, but she was glad to have him. She wasn’t a hundred percent, but having him at her side meant that didn’t matter. Mal could push her buttons like nobody’s business, but he always put her safety first. Even if that meant solutions she didn’t agree with.

  Mal growled at a man who pointed his camera in her direction, causing the human to stumble into a display of T-shirts. Fortunately, the SUV was just ahead of them now. Amery got out as they approached and opened the doors. “I see you made it,” he said to Mal.

  Mal said nothing, just climbed in after Chrysabelle and resumed his original seat. When they were all in, Amery steered into traffic and started across town.

  “Where are we going?” Chrysabelle asked.

  “Garden District,” Mortalis answered. “That’s where most of the fae live now. The Vieux Carré is home to a few of us, but there’s still a lot of iron there.”

  “Vieux Carré,” Chrysabelle repeated, practicing her French. “That means ‘old square,’ right? Do the fae speak French, or is that a holdover from the original settlers?”

  “Fae were among the original settlers.” Mortalis caught her eye in the visor mirror, pulled down against the sun. “Those of us born here speak a kind of pidgin. A mix of French, English, and fae. Our own version of Creole.”

  So Mortalis had been born here. Interesting. “Why did the fae come to New Orleans?”

  “It wasn’t just to New Orleans, but to much of the southern United States. Mostly they came to escape the vampire nobility in Europe who were intent on wiping them out.”

  The scenery around them changed from office buildings and hotels to small shops, which then gave way to massive live oaks standing guard alongside block after block of palatial homes. Strands of plastic beads dangled from the higher branches and streetlamps, an odd contrast to the leaded glass, white columns, and stately front porches facing the street. “Why are there beads on the trees?”

  “Leftovers from years of Mardi Gras. St. Charles is one of the main parade routes.”

  She went back to studying the houses. “These homes are breathtaking.”

  Mal snorted softly. “You don’t exactly live in a tent.”

  “No, but these homes have character. Charm. There’s more to them than just their size.”

  “Charisma spells,” Amery interjected.

  “That’s a little strange, wanting someone to like your house that much,” Mal said.

  “It’s more than that,” Amery continued. “The spell prevents vandalism by creating in the viewer a desire to protect. In this neighborhood, even small things like littering have been virtually wiped out.”

  “Leave it to the fae,” Mal said, shaking his head.

  Mortalis shot a smile back at Chrysabelle. “We always have been the brains of the othernatural realm.”

  Amery turned down a side street off of St. Charles and drove another block or two, then turned again and parked. “We’re here.”

  “Which house?” Chrysabelle asked.

  “This one.” He jerked a thumb toward the house on the driver’s side.

  For a house painted entirely in shades of gray and black, the ornate Victorian should have seemed dull, but there was something both welcoming and serious about it. As if you’d better have business when you stepped onto its front porch, but so long as you did, come on in.

  Mal leaned across to look out her window. “A high-ranking fae lives in a house with this much ironwork?”

  Amery shook his head. “It’s not iron—it’s painted aluminum. Maintains the historical integrity without the nasty itch.” He pointed to a few houses across the street. “They’re almost all aluminum these days.”

  Mortalis shifted to look at Mal and Chrysabelle. “The chances that Hugo will invite you in, Mal, are nil. He’s one of the elektos. Giving a vampire access to his home isn’t even up for debate. You might as well stay in the car.”

  “Absolutely not,” Chrysabelle said. “He comes. This Hugo might be one of your leaders, but he’s not mine and he’s got something that belongs to me. Besides, Mal might be the only thing that keeps me from killing this idiot outright.” Her body tensed as her anger grew, sending a quick jolt of pain down her spine. “If Hugo won’t let him in, I’ll burn his house down.”

  “Chrysabelle…” Mortalis tipped his head as if he were dealing with an unreasonable child.

  “Don’t, Mortalis. You have no place to speak. Mal comes.” She opened her door and got out, tired of waiting, tired of discussing, ready to do. She slid her sacres on over her long coat, happy to have their slight weight back on her body.

  Except for Amery, the others got out behind her. She stood in front of the chest-high gate, studying the house. A curtain in one of the upstairs windows swayed as though it had been dropped back into place. Being watched was no surprise. Nor was whoever had been at the window feeling no need to hide their inspection. Clearly, she and her group were to understand that they were no longer on their home turf. What Hugo failed to comprehend was that she hadn’t been on her home turf in a long time. Every day was filled with lessons in adaptation, and if this Hugo thought he was going to have some sort of advantage because this was his city, his house, his rules… he was wrong.

  Mortalis pushed a button concealed in one of the flowers decorating the elaborate metal fence surrounding the property. A buzzer sounded and he pushed through the gate.

  She followed with Mal behind her. They waited on the porch while Mortalis rang the bell. The leaded glass on the double doors was mottled in such a way that only shapes were visible through it. The one coming toward them wore black.

  The door opened and a doughy butler, who looked very human, addressed them. “Good afternoon.” He stepped aside, holding the door wide. “Do come in. Mr. Loudreux is waiting.”

  Mal glanced at Chrysabelle. She understood that the butler wasn’t the home owner, so his invitation meant nothing to Mal. She stayed put, squaring her shoulders in preparation for the anticipated battle. “We need a more personal invitation. From Hugo himself.”

  The butler lowered his hairy brows and squinted at her. His gaze moved to Mal, where it stopped, and his brows resumed their normal height. “Ah, yes, I suppose you would.” He frowned and shook his head at Mal. “I should call the guardian, but what good would
that do? Mr. Loudreux is not going to be happy about this.”

  “I don’t care if he cries like a little girl. Go get him,” Mal said. “We need an invite.”

  “Hmph.” The butler shut the door as he turned on his heels. His penguin shape disappeared back into the foyer.

  Mortalis sighed and stared at the blue painted porch ceiling. “This isn’t going to happen. I’m telling you.”

  “So noted.” She gently pushed him aside to stand in front of the door. A minute or two later, two shapes came toward them, the penguin and a tall, slim figure.

  Mr. Loudreux opened the door this time. He stood a head taller than any in their party, his slim build, narrow face, and freckles giving him away as a cypher. Nothing about his expression read as kindness. “I understand you expect me to grant a vampire entrance into my home.”

  Chrysabelle lifted her chin. “I do.”

  “No. If the rest of you want to come in, you may, but I suggest you do so quickly, as my patience tends to be nonexistent.”

  She stepped forward, putting herself in his personal space and halfway into his house. “And I understand you wanted to see me before returning my property. Seeing me includes those in my company. If that doesn’t meet with your approval, then give me back my ring and we’re gone.”

  He smiled. “I accepted the ring for safekeeping. The circumstances for its return were not discussed.”

  Meaning Mortalis had handed it over quickly and without properly wording the details of the agreement. She knew how fae could be. Everything was open to interpretation. She narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice, moving quickly to slip one of her wrist blades into her hand. “Then you’ll understand if I use whatever means necessary to recover it.”

  His mouth opened and he looked down to where her bone blade pressed against the ivory silk vest covering his belly.

  “Try me,” she whispered.

  His mouth snapped closed and he shuddered. “You may all enter.”

  With a sharp snap of her wrist, the blade retracted. He stepped back, anger flashing in his eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t used to being dealt with in such a manner. She sailed past him into the house. Too bad for him. She was done playing games with beings who felt superior because of the power they wielded. Come tonight at midnight, the balance between those with power and those without was going to shift in a big way.